Uh, No
by 0ptimuspenguin
Summary: AKA, how Ivan Braginski got a certain fiery Italian to return his affections. Who said pickup lines didn't work? Rumano, other pairings and warnings inside


**Disclaimer: :(**

**A/N: **So this originally started at 2AM this morning, because I couldn't sleep, and it was intended to be a shameless PWP involving Romano's curl and a curious Russia...but then it turned into THIS THING. THIS 14-PAGED, 7000-WORD MONSTROSITY.  
THE CURL IS MENTIONED _ONCE_. The rest are creepy as fuck pick-up lines. |||D  
Russia/Romano because I LURVE THIS PAIRING, DAMMIT. AND, AND, BECAUSE THERE'S ONLY ONE OTHER FIC FOR IT. :T  
This is unbeta-d because I just really wanted to write something. C;

**7-14-11:** Editttt. fixed grammar to American style, fixed tenses, changed some pairings and genders and noncanon names, fixed continuity errors

**Pairings:** Explicit (kind of) Rumano. Noticed or implied or teacher-friendly Ger/fem!Spa, PruIta, ScotUK, FrSey, DenNor, Kan/fem!Chu, USCan, HunBel**  
Warning:** The horror of pick-up lines, slight curl molestation, general creepiness, dark!Italia and dark!fem!Spain, dry sarcasm, slash + femslash, OOC Belarus (who is based off of my RP Belarus) and general rude comments. Oh, and run-on sentences. Massive fucking run-on sentences.

* * *

**Uh, No**

"Lovino?"

Lovino freezes where he is - which is totally not using his passing period in an empty math classroom to paw through Feliciano's bag (which he'd totally not stolen, nawww) for love letters from that damn albino, no - and spins around.

And, because he's Lovino, it's not like he _shrieks_ upon seeing the too-tall form of Ivan Braginski.

Oh. Braginski's saying something.

Or maybe he's just fucking with Lovino, his mouth's moving in slo-mo - because he's fail at "AYNGLEESH" - but the brunet can't hear anything.

"E-eh?" tries the Italian, feeling more and more dwarfed by the second.

And, you know, not because he's crying in fear.

Nope. Not at all.

Braginski beams. It totally looks like a sign of homicidal mania, but Lovino's so cool that he doesn't react.

And, duh, he's totally ducking under the desk because he'd - um...he'd...

Dropped a contact! Yeah. Those little buggers, always flying out of your eyes like -

Then Lovino notices - through eyes that're totally not swimming with tears, ya know - that Braginski's gripping a hockey stick with one large hand.

Lovino's other contact lens - darn the stupid thing! - just pops _riiiight _out of his eye. Never mind that he's got perfect vision, he can wear contact lenses whenever the fuck he wants to, okay?

"Can I hit you with this hockey stick?"

Lovino's selective hearing plays a hand, because all he hears is _CAN I HIT _and then he spazzes.

Uh.

_Spazzes _above here meaning, "stares calmly and coolly and refuses."

"WHAT?" Because, totally, screaming calm responses is the new faze.

"You know, just to see if you really bleed sunshine."

Lovino's eye twitches.

Uhm. What?

A few totally strained minutes pass before Lovino manages a cracked, "What?"

Braginski frowns, an expression that totally doesn't have Lovino glancing around frantically for cover, and grumbles to himself, "Damn Alfred, saying these pick-up lines would work..."

And Lovino can't even sneer at the Russian's gullibility - is that even a word? Whatever, it is now - because he realizes, OH HAI LOOK. HE'S TRYING TO PICK ME UP.

And he promptly shrieks again.

A' course, the shriek sounds more like that cat Kiku hit* during his license test, but a shriek it nonetheless is. Lovino can't even exaggerate that off.

"Uh, _no_!"

Braginski's face falls, and in the second it takes him to speak again - probably trying to translate some Russian-voiced thought into English, damn FOB - Lovino jumps to his feet and dashes out the door, screaming bloody murder.

And then dashes back in, grabs Feli's bag, and dashes back out – because growing up in the mafia taught him to always clean up, and that's a lesson instilled so well that Lovino can't ignore it even at pain of death. Like he is now.

He tries to pretend that he imagined the hockey stick zooming by his head and shattering against the whiteboard.

* * *

Lovino spends the rest of the day - nay, week - in fear. Uh. Worry. That he might have to unleash a can of Italian-style badassery on that frickin Russian.

Braginski is, really, pulling a Nataliya and popping up out of ruddy nowhere and crooning more half-assed pick-up lines in that godforsaken _andtotallynotsexy _accent of his.

Most of them are...vaguely normal ("Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" and "Can I have a map? I'm lost in your eyes!" and "Yep, just what I thought, 'Made in heaven'" but that last one only after suddenly yanking Lovino's shirt up to read the school-uniform-tag on the inner left side) but then, as the day - nay, week - drags on, the quotes get creepier.

"Know what would look good on you?"

That one comes out of nowhere, two days after the original incident. So Lovino's walking home and telling a funny-ass story to his brother and wondering why Feli's not laughing the way he always does, and then he feels the freezing aura that just goes hand in hand with Communism and turns to see a certain Russian _waaaay _too close for comfort.

And then Lovino is, like, totally expecting the answer to be 'Nothing' but then Braginski has to up his CREEPER bar and cheerfully says, "Crutches!"

Lovino knows he has ne'er run that fast in his life.

* * *

Saturday and Sunday pass...peacefully. Lovino doesn't leave the house once, nor does he allow frickin Isabel* to leave either. Isabel's more than happy to stay with her baby cousin, cooing in Spanish and so cheerful that Lovino almost doubts what Gramps told him about Isabel being his cousin. For all he knew, Gramps - who was too energetic for his age, and not in a good way - had had a fling with a young Spanish floozy who came back pregnant or carrying a baby (or in extreme cases, _both_), and then the baby'd been adopted by Uncle Carriedo and the mommy killed off so that nobody was left to talk about one of Gramps' many affairs, and voila! Big Sister Isabel.

Knowing Gramps, that's highly possible.

But who cares? Even though she's a chick, Isabel's wicked with any sharp object and just as hardcore with a blunt one, and adores her little cousins to the point of bursting so she's the best one to keep Braginski away.

Right?

Any doubt Lovino has vanishes when Braginski calls the house phone _(howdidhegetthatfuckingnumber?)_, asking for Lovino, and Isabel, ever the doting cousin, says Lovino committed suicide out of distress. "You're just so passionate, see," whimpers Isabel, "and Lovi – he thought you deserved better." Then Isabel stops and fake-blows her nose, as if talking about Lovino makes her wanna cry.

And Lovino, who listens in on another hand-held house phone and tries not to bite his perfectly manicured fingernails even though he's laughing so hard he looks like a goddamn tomato, makes a note to hug his cousin once a day when Braginski - apparently puzzled by the normally-cheerful Isabel's somber-ness - thanks her and hangs up.

But then Monday comes, Braginski sees Lovino and storms over to Isabel asking why she would lie, and Isabel says with a shrug and a flash of that famous two-sided personality, "He looked pretty dead to me."

So Braginski and the half-foot-shorter Isabel have a glare-off, both of them grinning icily – an expression which is scary as fuck and which does not belong on Isabel's face – before, at the same exact moment, they break out in laughter and, at the same exact moment, extend a hand to shake. They walk off to the cafeteria and leave a very confused Lovino, and Feliciano behind.

Then Francis whispers, all hush-hush, that psychopaths can pick each other out of a crowd. Gilbert crows and says, "Lovi's lucky though! If anything, this'll make Braginski trust Bella's half-assed explanations." Because apparently Feli told Isabel who told Francis and Gilbert (who told the whole school, if the other students' pitying looks are anything to go by) about Braginski's attempts to court the Italian through pick-up lines that should be shot dead and fed to rabid monkeys.

And so Isabel somehow worked her way to spot #2 on Lovino's BADASS list.

With Lovino himself, of course, as _numero uno_.

* * *

By first period, Braginski busts out the book of creepy pick-up lines again, and Lovino only trembles a little bit this time when he feels the tell-tale, horror-movie-worthy coldness.

Why?

Well, see, in the fucking middle of physics with Mr. Berkeley* – which is, quite regrettably, a class Lovino shares with Braginski _and_ first period – Braginski stands up and practically screams across the room, "LOVINO! I'D LIKE TO NAME A MULTIPLE ORGASM AFTER YOU."

Only, it comes out sounding all, "LOVINO! AI'D LAICK TO NAEM A MULTIPLE ORGAZZZZM AFFFTER YOUU."*

And everyone else in class (except for Jones, that fucktard, and Mr. B, who snorts into his coffee) freezes.

"AHAHAHAHA!"

Again, except for Jones, that fucktard, who's bent over clutching his stomach as his stepbrother and kinda-sorta-not-really-boyfriend (nobody can really tell if it's just a really passionate bromance or honestly illegal), who is the only other person in class on a first-name basis with Braginski, rolls his eyes and returns to his math homework.

Lovino twitches and falls over, leaving a very worried Camille* next to him.

When he comes to, Nurse Wang* clucks his tongue disapprovingly. "Passing out in class, aru!" she screeches, holding a very scary-looking needle. Lovino vaguely makes out Mr. Im sitting at the desk, spinning around and humming cheerfully even as his girlfriend brandishes such a horrid, horrid object.

"B-but Braginski is trying to kill me!"

"Is he?" and Wang sounds so utterly bored that Lovino can't help but justify himself. And probably some sense of Lovi trying to keep that needle - which looks very pointy, you know, it's a fucking _needle_ - away from him, at all costs.

"He's spewing cheesy pick-up lines at me and stalking me!"

That does not come out as a sob, thankyouverymuch.

Wang stops and frowns, her pretty face twisting into a relative grimace as she grabs for his arm. "No, aru, that's just his way of showing affection."

And Lovino wonders how the _fucking school nurse _would know this, but he doesn't _really _wonder, to avoid mind scarring you know. After all, as long as he doesn't know the truth, he can just pretend that it's because Braginski's sent so many 'crushes' to the medical ward.

...though that's really not too enticing, either.

Two minutes later, it turns out Wang wasn't joking about the needle (which is some weird-ass herb that feels like liquified pot because the next thing Lovino knows, he's HAPPY AS A PORCUPINE). Once she's injected the stuff, she calls for Erik Anderson,* the Norwegian office aid (who really just gets to carry an armband that means he's allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants and get away with it, because he's the only one in the entire school "trust-able" with that power or some bullshit), and tells him to stop sucking face with Mr Køhler* and get his skinny ass down here so he can escort Lovino back to class. And so a very annoyed-looking Anderson does, hair mussed and hickeys forming on his throat, but he hardly cares as he grabs Lovino and strides down the corridors.

Anderson's a cool guy, Lovino decides, when Braginski shows up trying to proclaim his love in the form of another pick-up line and Anderson just stares at him like, hall pass. And so bored-looking that the description doesn't even get capital letters. Braginski smiles happily - read: homicidally - and Anderson, still looking half-asleep for boredom, grabs Lovino and drags him down the hall, and deposits him at his math class, rapping on the door and saying to Mr. Berkeley that Lovino's off his rocker because of something Nurse gave him.

And then he darts out the door and straight towards the staff quarters, and only then does Lovino realize that it's not out of pity or sympathy for him or any such emotion, but mainly out of Anderson's desire to hit a home run with that Danish teacher.

But it was nice to have a friend again. Isabel's still all buddy-like with that creep, though Francis and Gilbert claim it's like "infiltrating the enemy".

Camille smiles happily when he sits down, but the rest of the class continuously tries to shoot him looks all like, "AW MAN I'M SO SORRY FOR YA" and "LOLLERSURLIFESUX" and "EHH. WE LIKE YOUR BROTHER MORE, SO IT'S NOT TOO MUCH OF A LOSS FOR US" until Mr. B stands and slams his hand on the table. And Mr. B's one of those really scary teachers, the kind who you can't help but be frightened, so

everyone turns and stares at him in horror as he hollers,

"Th' highest scair oan th' tests I jist graded was a 79. I jist curved a scair fur th' first time in th' history ay curvin' scores, an' I wulnae do it again. Thes next unit is th' hardest yoo've hud yit, but ye insist oan starin' at an I-talian who's awreddy marked fur death!" Mr. B stops and frowns, and looks at Lovino with a glimmer in his blue eyes that's just too malicious for him to be honestly apologetic. "Sorry abit 'at, by th' way. But ur ye all morons? Come gie these damn tests."

Nobody understands what the fuck he said – unless he's talking about physics, in which case all his students agree that he's the best teacher at Saint Justine's – but then he throws the abysmal tests on the ground, and everyone scampers to grab their tests because if they don't, Mr. B'll throw out their original score and give them a zero. That gets all the attention off of Lovino...but Lovino was too "happy" to care in the first place, so he didn't even notice the attention he was getting.

Mr. B's the only teacher who lets his students out when they finish their work, so Lovino gives in his assignment, grabs his test off the floor (and doesn't even comment on the 77 written in red on the top of the paper, which must be like a 99%) and prances out, mumbling something about following butterflies. And then, creepy enough, Braginski, who's apparently been done with his work for the past forty minutes and just been sitting there staring unabashedly at Lovino, doesn't follow.

No, he just rapes the Italian with his eyes _alllllll _the way out.

And Lovino doesn't spin with that mafia-style perfection and throw something, nor sprint out.

So Braginski takes that as an improvement.

* * *

"Does this shirt smell like chloroform to you?"

That one comes in the middle of PE, second period, when they're changing (because, while they don't have the same PE _class _precisely, they have the same period). Thing is, Braginski – who takes basketball with Jones and a few others since it's off-season for varsity, which they're on – looks very menacing and holds a shirt that is most definitely one of Jones'.

And cuz he's a boss, Lovino totally doesn't shriek and run away.

The happy-making drug's already faded, and he fears addiction because he wants more to take his mind off the Russian stalking him. Feliciano, who's left at their shared clothes locker, blinks and says adorable, "Vee~?" but Braginski's having none of that as he fumes away, back to bitch-slap a chortling Alfred.

Lovino, from his brilliant hiding spot of under a bench, hears Alfred cackling as Braginski threatens to start another war because of the failure of these "peek-ahp laiiinz"*.

* * *

After second period there's lunch, forty-five minutes to sit about with friends and mingle. Lovino's satisfied to sit on the roof with the Bad Touch Trio and their respective family members, and more than happy to pick up his usual routine of cursing at Gilbert in Italian once Feliciano starts feeding him pasta. Then Kaltherzig, that fucker, and Isabel accidentally glue their fucking faces together and somehow teleport to another corner of the roof and Christ, Isabel's porntastic moans alone are enough to make Lovino suicidal.

And then Francis, despite Madeline* sitting in his lap, reaches out and is all, WINKWINK, JE SUIS FRANCAIS, DONC JE SUIS BON AU LIT* and Lovino, who values his buttginity, storms off and leave his poor brother and his poor cousin to the grope-y hands of those goddamn Nazis, but it's every man for himself.

Then Braginski shows up and Lovino remembers why he put up with thirty minutes of sex noises from the other side of the roof and his brother practically grinding a stupid, egotistic albino. "Do I know you from somewhere?" asks Braginski with a wide grin.

"Uh...no?" he squeaks out in response to Braginski's question.

"I don't recognize you with your clothes on!"

And Lovino sprints.

* * *

Third period, AP Bio, is awesome because Mr. Zwingli doesn't take bullshit of any kind. Mr. Zwingli also worked his way up Lovino's BAMF list, up at the top with himself, Isabel, and Feliciano just because Feli's so good an actor that everyone else believes there's not any darkness in his soul (but Lovino was the one who walked in on his brother ripping a butterfly apart, so... It makes him wonder why the fuck _he_ got stuck as the only sane one in an entire family, even though everyone at school thinks he's the crazy kid) and now he's on Lovino's POSSIBLE CRUSH list because, yeah, he just turned AP-Chemistry-student Braginski away. By brandishing a ruler and threatening to rip Braginski a new one if he didn't get his ass back to the classroom he was supposed to be in.

So Braginski trudges away, annoyed but probably not willing to risk the trigger-happy Swiss (because, totally, guns dominate water pipes, ya know?) and Lovino exhales happily.

Then all of a sudden, Braginski darts back in, grabs Lovino and drops to one knee and takes Lovino's hands before he says, the image of sincerity,

"Your eyes are bluer than the Atlantic ocean and baby, I'm all lost at sea."

But in that accent, so it's like...well, you know what it's like.

And it sure as hell ain't pretty.

And Lovino twitches and is all, DUDE MY EYES ARE GREEN. But the accent, while it mangles a perfectly horrible pick-up line, is – dare he think it – sexy, and coupled with Braginski's white smile, Lovino fears that the guy's is getting to him.

But before he can say anything, Mr. Z projects a yardstick at Lovino's head, so he settles for a shriek and a duck, and Braginski high-tails it out of there with that shit-eating grin, and Mr. Z stands at the door with another yardstick in hand as he screeches after the Russian in another language that sounds like the unholy lovechild of French and German.

And Lovino passes out again. When he comes to, his darling and very confused lab partner Mei stares at him, and Lovino's too mentally exhausted to explain. So he finishes the lab and drags himself to another ten-minute break, in which Braginski shows up out of nowhere and wraps his arms around Lovino's smaller frame, pulling him up into a hug that very nearly breaks his rib cage, before he says, "I'm kind of new to this environment. Can you direct me to your place?" before Feliciano gains his voice and screeches all possessive-like,

_"GET OFF MY BROTHER!" _

And Braginski stares at him with an arched brow, and Feli glares right back, hands quivering in rage, and then - in a weird sense of déjà vu - the two laugh and shake hands as Lovino facepalms.

And Braginski says loudly, as if he needed to be heard over the ear-pounding silence of everyone in the courtyard, "I like your family very much, _milyĭ malʹchik_!"

And thus the wrath of Nataliya Arlovskaya is invoked.

* * *

So Arlovskaya's normally okay. She's a friendly girl as long as her step-brother's not brought up – or as long as she's not around anyone that either likes him or is liked by him romantically. Like Toris, poor Toris. Rumor is that he liked her but she liked Braginski and Braginski liked Toris, so obviously the easiest way to direct her steppie's love to herself was to kill off (or injure to either ugliness or uselessness, that would do) Toris. Hence started the well-known debacle of the...well, of the three, because nobody'd been brave enough to name the event beyond 'THOSE THREE'.

Long story short?

Last time Braginski had liked someone, said object of affection ended up in hospital with the bones in his right arm and leg shattered from Arlovskaya pushing him out a window.

Lovino _likes _his right side.

But if anything, that did ease the horror of Wang dating Braginski. Obviously nothing had happened to the Chinese lady, unless her beauty was something that could never be destroyed. Hmm...even Toris had recovered just fine, a bit stiff on his right side (according to Feliks, who would always giggle gilishly when someone brought up the topic), but still.

_It's __**Arlovskaya**__._

And she's batshit insane.

Lovino's first run-in with her is delayed. Apparently, she spent half a year in Eastern Europe visiting family members – or running for Miss Belarus, according to her once-boyfriend Alfred Jones, but nobody really knew and Braginski wasn't telling for some weird idea of private life being kept private. Whatever. Now Arlovskaya is back, conveniently timed with the end of the Miss World pageant, and she's targeting Lovino.

See, in the halls of Saint Justine's, gossip spreads faster than herpes.

"Please don't kill me!" shrieks Lovino as soon as he sees a certain lithe frame darken the doorway of the empty English classroom he hid in.

Arlovskaya frowns, and still manages to look exquisite. "Why would I want to kill you?" she asks, crossing her arms over her white sundress. And Lovino thinks there's hope before she goes on with, "I just want to disfigure you badly enough that Ivandoesn't love you anymore."

So Lovino spazzes.

Then Arlovskaya laughs, a weird sound because it's both bone-chilling and heart-warming, an oxymoron like those cooling-heating pads, and Lovino realizes that Braginski laughs the exact same way.

Just, you know, not so high or girlishly.

The platinum blonde comes and sits by him, examining her perfectly manicured blue nails before she turns, grabs his shoulders, and shakes him hard.

"We need to get one thing straight," she says, and Lovino sees his life flash by. "I am certain that you are a good match for Ivan. With that said, you are to cease your rejections immediately."

Lovino blinks a few times and Arlovskaya slaps him.

"Get a grip."

So he shrieks. "What the _fuck? _B-b-but you'll kill me!"

"Think of it this way. I'm experimenting with, ah, other people."

"...experimenting?"

"Experimenting. So as for me killing you? Nope." She pops the P and Lovino visibly relaxes. "But I will if you break his heart."

Lovino's confused. "W-we're not even dating...:

"So? He's in love with you – or as in love as we can be at this age. Why else would he go to my idiot of an ex?" She says this rather endearingly, and Lovino's like, WHUT.

"He only talked to me for the first time, like ever, last week!" Lovino nearly sobs, looking at Arlovskaya through his fingers lest she try to kill him anyway.

Arlovskaya laughs once. "He only just asked Al for advice, and Al, that fucktard, got a kick in telling him to use pick-up lines." The brunet notices that Arlovskaya's accent is much thinner than her brother's, and that's great because he can actually understand her – unlike Braginski. Why the fuck does everyone have such thick accents?

"Why pick-up lines?"

She stares at him as if he's just professed love to her. "Are you telling me that, despite him singing them to you every day, you've not heard a single one of them?"

"T-they're real creepy," he confesses, cheeks coloring as he glances off to the side. "I try to ignore them."

"Has he used the infamous rape one on you yet?" She looks truly curious, and Lovino's jaw drops.

"W-wha -"

"Al used it on me," adds Arlovskaya with a nostalgic smile. "I slapped him to high heaven, and the next day he just came out with it and kissed me."

And Lovino fears for his life more than he ever has.

Arlovskaya stands and makes for the exit, and Lovino hopes she won't kill him for asking the $64,000 question.

"By the way, Arlovskaya?"

She pauses, tapping blue nails on the door-frame before turning and arching an eyebrow. "You can just call me Nat. Everyone does."

"Okay. Uh. Well, why don't you like Braginski anymore?"

Nat smirks, and lifts a hand to touch the floral hairpin she's using in place of a ribbon, and Lovino recognizes it as one of Feli's female friends' clips. "I told you, I'm _experimenting_."

Then she leaves a very surprised Lovino with some very disturbing (and very hot) mental images, and when he exits the classroom he's visibly red.

* * *

Lovino's last class – with the block schedule that Saint Justine's has – is AP US History, taught by (the ironically British) Mr. Kirkland. Jones sits right next to Lovino, enthusiastic as ever and strangely knowledgeable with the history of his home country (because he's an idiot in every other subject), and Lovino wants to slap the bastard up the head for cursing him in such a way. Except now they've just finished a test, and like always Jones finished first and sleeps with his head down on the desk.

Then all of a sudden, Braginski pokes his head in, just his light scarf and the top of his black v-neck shirt visible as he beams. Only his grin lowers the temperature about forty degrees. Then he calls to Lovino, "Let me spell my love for you: S-T-A-L-K-E-R!" And then, before Mr. Kirkland can come to his senses and screech at the Russian to get his fat ass _out_, Braginski pitches a paper ball at Jones' head hard enough to knock his chair over, which effectively wakes him up; Mr. Kirkland hurls a history textbook at Braginski, who parts with an air-kiss to a certain very red Italian.

Mr. Kirkland looks up at Lovino with a pitying look. "I'm sorry, lad," he says with a shake of his head. And it totes sounds like, "AI'M SOWRRRRAI, LADD".

But Jones, who has since pulled himself back up and unraveled the offensive paper ball, hands it to Lovino. By flicking it at his face.

No, Lovino doesn't shriek. Pff. Only pussies shriek.

When he's straightened up again, Lovino unfolds the extremely offensive paper ball, which is now crumpled from constant scrunching and unscrunching. Upon reading the note on it, he turns about nine shades redder and turns to Jones like WTF IS THIS?

And Jones is totally just snickering and speaking with a horrible imitation Russian accent, "ZAT COMMIEH VEEL GET YUU, NO MAATTIIR VHAT."

So naturally Lovino wonders how two people as different as Braginski and Jones could be best friends, but they are and Lovino's too horrified to think, so he just reads the note again in the hopes that the writing would have changed.

_"I'm a necrophiliac, so why don't you drop dead and I'll think about it? Lyubovʹ, Ivan."_

Hmm...nope.

Even though the writing is lovely and curved, Lovino smashes the paper into a ball yet again and rams it into Jones' mouth (and someone comments about how much Jones likes balls down his throat, but Lovino's too distraught to care).

"BASTARD!" he wails. "IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT I'VE GOT AN INSANE RUSSIAN – WHO DOESN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND _HOW CREEPY_ THE FUCK HE'S TELLING ME IS – ON MY ASS!"

"He's not on it literally yet, right?" asked a suddenly-worried Jones, extracting the paper ball from his mouth, and Lovino thinks maybe he's seeing the light -

"Because he has to use my rape pick-up line first!" finishes the fucktard with a cackle.

"DAMMIT JONES!" shouts Lovino, punching Jones in the nose.

Then he turns to Mr Kirkland.

"WELL? WHAT THE FUCK ARE ALL YOU FUCKTARDS STARING FOR? GET ON WITH THE GODDAMNED CLASS!"

Kirkland snickers and calls for the class to open to page 394.

Yeah. Because we're going to just pretend that, for the past five minutes, the class wasn't dead silent and watching the supposedly private exchange avidly.

* * *

After school that day, Lovino calls Isabel and waits as long as he can in the classroom before Mr. B drops in and practically pounces Mr. Kirkland, and Lovino thinks that there are way too many teacher-teacher and teacher-student and student-teacher relationships going on here, because within five seconds Mr Kirkland's dropped to his knees and _OKAYTHAT'SALLTHEMENTALIMAGELOVINEEDS_.

So naturally he bolts, because nobody wants to see their favorite teacher practically eating their least favorite teacher, both of whom they will have to see every other day for the rest of the year, and it's only October.

But the point is that he doesn't have Isabel there to protect his cute little ass, so naturally Braginski swoops in.

No, literally. While Lovino attempts the mad dash to the math building, where Isabel is probably kissing the living daylights out of Kaltherzig (or vice versa, Lovino's never wanted to know specifics with them), frickin Braginski runs across the hall with one arm stretched out, hooks Lovino on it, and continues on his merry way.

No, literally! He practically runs from one classroom to its twin on the other side of the hall right as Lovino tries to pass, and hooks him up.

Lovino screams and catches sight of long, silvery blond hair down the hall, and knows that the bitch is the reason that the entire building is empty. Upon seeing two certain blondes, Lovino makes a note to sic his mafia on both Francis and Mr Kirkland, because it's obvious that Nat went and threatened them to get out.

Alas, poor Lovino. Why is the entire world against him?

He knows for sure it's the entire world, because half of the school adores varsity basketball captain Alfred F. Jones and the other half adores varsity cheerleader and homecoming queen Elizaveta Héderváry, and Lovino can see Arlovskaya and Héderváry making out with all the rage of a great typhoon in the courtyard. Frickin A.

Whatever the case, the sight of the two masterminds making out is very, very hot – almost hot enough for Lovino to forget his current predicament.

But then Braginski stops and sets Lovino onto one of the desks, grabbing his face between cold, rough-skinned hands and planting one right on him.

And all Lovino can think is that the Commie's lips are _really _dry and _really _cold, which is _really _weird because kisses are supposed to be, ya know, warm and wet? Braginski's lips don't look chapped but apparently they are, because they're rubbing against Lovino's own perfect ones, and everything about the Russian is freezing as Lovino finds out, and it's like he doesn't even salivate because it's impossibly dry. In fact, when he pulls away, the only reason his lips are wet are because of Lovino's tears.

Uh, the water his eyes expelled because it was useless. Yeah. Because Lovino Vargas doesn't cry.

Lovino shrieks and Braginski beams again, stepping closer until Lovino is pressed against the wall and _that's very uncomfortable_, and the look on the Russian's face is nothing if not hungry and Lovino is all NOOOO DON'T RAPE ME!

Then Braginski asks _it_.

"Let's have sex, yeah?"

Lovino stares at him blankly, Braginski looking like Christmas, his birthday, and genocide came all bundled up in one present. (Except that Lovino can feel, like, the boner of the century poking into his leg, and he wants to die.)

But the expression is creepier, because Braginski's gaunt face – surprising, because Lovino hasn't looked at Braginski properly since freshman year, when he was pudgier than a Twinkie...whatever, apparently Braginski went on this massive diet (or basketball did wonders) because the baby fat is all gone and his face is all contrasting angles and his nose, Christ, his _nose_ is the world's eighth fucking wonder but it's hot and OH SHIT DID LOVINO JUST THINK THAT?

"No!" Lovino pleads, eyes wet with unshed tears.

The Russian's face falls and he let go, and Lovino thinks maybe, just maybe, he's gonna survive this day with his ass virginity intact?

But then he remembers that Jones had said something about a rape-y pick-up line...

"Oh...okay..." Braginski moved back a little more, and OMGLOVINOCOULDSEETHEDOOR -

- and then Braginski looks up, this expression of pure, unadulterated lust – plus the added Christmas-birthday-genocide joy – on his too-pointy face, and Lovino prays to God that Braginski at least has lube.

"Rape it is!"

And he reaches out and tugs Lovino's curl, and Lovino wonders _how the fuck he knew to do that_ but is otherwise too preoccupied to question.

The next two hours are a total blur of clashing teeth, lips and tongues, and fingers in places they should not be and whoa, Lovino didn't even know he was that stretchy before today. Braginski has him in this weird position, his knees pressed against his own shoulders and his ankles hooked around the Russian's neck, hands entwined in light hair and pulling him in for kiss after kiss as one, then two then three fingers push into him, lubed up by the sunflower-smelling stuff Braginski had thankfully been carrying.

Over the other's hulking shoulders, Lovino can barely catch the glint of something that looks like a camera.

But then he doesn't have to think about it, because the fingers are gone and replaced with – _fuuuuuuck._

And Lovino's sure his screams can be heard from the courtyard, but he doesn't fucking care as Braginski pounds him into Mr. Im's desk.

* * *

When he comes to, it's dark outside and Ivan – still cold as sin, but happily tracing circles on the skin of Lovino's stomach – grins at him. Lovino wonders what the royal fuck just happened, but then realizes, OH HAY WAIT, I'M NEKKID.

And so is Ivan, and Lovino is too busy screeching about the indecency to wonder (read: remember) when he started calling (read: screaming) the Russian's first name.

But Ivan just snickers and kisses him again, and Lovino can still taste come on their lips and looks down and AW FUCK MAN, THERE'S JIZZ ALL OVER THE DAMN DESK.

"We went four times!" informs Ivan happily, pulling Lovino into a hug which is really just making the Italian straddle him, and all the while lightly stroking Lovino's hair curl. "Well, actually, I only came twice but you came like six times, so I averaged it."

The Italian shudders and tries pushing Ivan off.

"What time is it?" he asks, biting back a yawn.

"6PM," says Ivan. "Don't worry, _milyĭ malʹchik_, Lalatold your brothers what was happening, and Miss Héderváry was kind enough to close down the building."

Lovino twitches.

"I hear that she threatened them all with a frying pan."

The brunet stands up and immediately falls over, quite disgusted at the feeling of thick, congealed liquid running down his thighs. "Augh, man!" he grimaces. Ivan's grin widens and Lovino glares at the ground as embarrassed tears spring to his eyes.

"Asshole!" he bites out even as the Russian helps him to his feet, swinging him up bridal style. "Why didn't you use a condom?"

"I did, the first time!" replies Ivan sweetly. "But see, I was not planning on Miss Héderváry's assistance, so thought we would only have one shot. Next time I will bring more, _ya obeshchayu_!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" says Lovino indignantly, crossing his arms as Ivan sets him down on a table. "Next time? What makes you think this isn't just a one-time thing?"

Ivan frowns. "I am not certain of how relationships work in America, but in Russia, when one pleases the other to the point of six _orgazmov_ in two hours -"

Lovino squawks and covers his ears.

* * *

And so Ivan claws and fights with Lovino - which really just means finger-fucking him again until he passes out, because he simply doesn't have the strength to orgasm for a seventh time. Honestly, both were amazed that the small Italian had lasted six bone-shaking climaxes before just passing out. (Ivan tells him later that Lovino had been riding him, and then after they both came Lovino suddenly screamed and practically fell off, body totally limp, and Ivan had been all _OHSHITWHAT? _but in Russian, so it was like _DA YEBATʹ_, _CHTO LI?_)

But whatever the case, the next day finds the two of them holding hands, Feli and Isabel throwing evil looks at Ivan as a sign of what would happen lest the Russian break Lovino's heart, and the rest of the school like HOW THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN? Oh, and both Liz and Nat looked _very _pleased with themselves - and the tape they'd gotten, but shhh! - even as they practically tongued each other's stomachs.

Jones also cackled madly, arm slung around his brother and suggesting that they also get in on in Mr. Im's classroom, only to be punched in the jaw by an apathetic Matthew, who was all, "Hahahahano. Go make me a sandwich."

The moral of this story?

Russian noses are hot.

_TROLOLOLOLOLOLOLO._

_TROOOOLOLOLO._

_TROLOLOLOLOOOOO._

_TROLOLOLOLO._

_TROLOLOLOLOLO._

_TROLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO._

_TROLOLO._

_TROLOLOLOLOLOLOOOOOOOO._

_TROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLO!_

And then they had a threesome.

* * *

**A/N: **lolyayrewrite

**Notes:**  
*Isabel. Fem!Spain  
*Driving. Shameless racism on my part. I live in California and I'm more afraid of getting run over by an Asian driver than I am of being kidnapped. OTL  
*Camille. my name for Belgium  
*Nurse Wang. This is like some fucked up AU, set in a high-school somewhere, in which I cast random people as teachers and other random people as...other...random...people! C:  
*Erik. My favorite name for Norway.  
*Køhler. "Mathias Køhler" is my favorite name for Denmark.  
*Mr. B. Kieran Berkeley is the name I use for Scotlanddd. (pixiv Scotland btw)  
*"WINKWINK, JE SUIS FRANCAIS, DONC JE SUIS BON AU LIT" = "WINKWINK, I AM FRENCH, SO I AM GOOD IN BED"


End file.
